"Arcade?"
"Yeah. It's around the corner there." He pointed to one of the doorways. "You got a prob with your girl; that's on you."
Jett glanced in that direction. "Can I see what she's been viewing?"
"Viewing? You wanna view something, you watch your picjector. This is an experience, hebro. Fully immersive engagement of all senses, feel me?"
"Fine. Show me what she's been experiencing."
"You got an ID on the rugrat?"
Jett pulled up Zoe's profile. "This is her."
The clerk glanced at the picture. "Yeah, been seeing her a lot. Gotta say, I don't exactly see a family resemblance there, brotato chip."
Jett glared at him. "Just pull it up."
"Okay — no need to get pushy. I'm telling you, the arcade is filtered for kids." He summoned a holographic screen and tapped on it a few times. "Okay, here we go."
The picture that popped up wasn't what Jett expected. "I thought it was supposed to be the Imperial War."
"This is what your girl picks nine times out of ten."
The scene was simple: two girls playing in the backyard of a stately home. The sky was perfect — cornflower blue with striated clouds lazily drifting across. The girls laughed, chasing one another across turf-green grass, while a Labrador puppy followed on their heels, barking and jumping. Their mother approached with a warm smile on her face, beckoning with an invitation for lemonade and cookies.
"This is what she chooses?"
"Nine times out of ten. It's different with Immersion, of course. Puts you right there — you can feel the grass under your toes, smell the air, taste the chocolate chips. This is what we call a template program, not a real memory. When Immersed, the sister becomes her sister, the mother changes to her mother, or whoever she imagines. See: nothing to worry about. The girl just wants a happy family."
"And footage of the Imperial War."
"Everyone digs the IW, brosicle. One of the most popular feeds."
"Yeah, I still don't like her coming here by herself."
"Happens all the time, brohan. If it's not here, then it's somewhere else. Kids eat this stuff up, and most who come here can't afford the tech at home. Coming here keeps them off the streets, so it's a win-win. We're providing a valuable service, brohemian."
Jett's mouth twisted. "Yeah, I'm sure it has nothing to do with getting kids hooked so that when they get old enough, they become paying customers."
"You're really cynical; anyone tell you that? Speaking of paying customers, you getting your sample or what?"
Jett took a deep breath. "Imperial War, I guess."
"Well, you're in luck, brobot. 'Cause we got an extensive library. Not even gonna charge for your first trip, 'cause I know you'll be back. Come on, this way." He led Jett through the nearest door and down a narrow hallway before entering one of the available rooms. Inside was a padded chair with a bowl-shaped contraption attached above the headrest.
Jett gave it a suspicious glance. "I'm not gonna be strapped into this thing unconscious, am I?"
"On a free sample? You're talking about Sensync, bromigo. That's illegal, you know. We do Immersion here. Got the pods for full effect, but for those I'll need some major v-notes. Like I said, this halo chair is for your sample. It'll give you an idea of what Immersion is about, so you'll be ready for the real deal next time."
Jett sat in the chair while the clerk lowered the half-sphere down to the bridge of his nose. Wide goggles popped out and covered his eyes, flooding his irises with light.
"Relax, brometheus. Just getting the launchpad set up."
A digital interface sprang into his vision, clean with a simple search feature.
"Okay, you're good to go. Enjoy your trip."
Jett waited until the clerk left the room before he spoke the search command. "Search for Jett Wolfe."
"Searching."
His eyes widened when hundreds of results popped up. The feeling was quickly followed by surging anger. He knew exactly where how they got the data: it was downloaded from his mind while he hibernated over three hundred years in the stasis pod by William Golding, the man who saved his life. He'd already seen proof of Golding's duplicity when the mysterious billionaire created synthetic duplicates of Jett's ACU team and used them as a kill squad for Haven Core during the winter riots. Golding knew everything about Jett, knew he was Vigil, but kept the secret for enigmatic reasons. Jett hadn't seen Golding in person since awakening from stasis, but he knew Golding was watching. Always watching.
Jett just didn't know why.
Tight-chested, he scanned the breakdown of the file results. There were separate groups of files for Academy, Brothers, ACU, Imperial War, Cataclysm, Tatsu. His memories were right there, available for public consumption. His intimate moments, the times he cherished and held closely inside — right there for anyone to experience. His time in the ACU and the war, the people he lost, the tears he shed, and the pain he endured — dispersed to anyone with the equipment to download and live vicariously through his life.
"Damn you, Golding."
His eyes focused on one of the files. The one he was afraid to find. Her face was frozen in profile on the download screen.
Tatsu.
Despite the warning voice in his head, he clicked on the profile. His vision flashed, blinding. He winced as the world warped around him. Red apples and rose petal essence tickled his nostrils. Her scent. Her voice whispered in his ear, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck.
Jett…
He turned around, and she was there. Standing in the streaming light from the windows of their apartment. Her slender figure was draped in an unassuming outfit: leggings and a loose sweatshirt that left one shoulder bare. Inky-black hair pinned in an updo. Dark eyes staring into his own, lips touched by a humorous thought.
"Why the long stare? You look like you've seen a ghost, Jett."
He gaped, mouth working. No words came out. The shock was too great. His temples throbbed from his rising blood pressure, sweat broke out from his pores. It was a complete violation of his very core, something he previously couldn't even imagine would hurt so bad. Tears slid freely down his cheeks as he stared at her, mind flooded by memories. Tatsu, smiling. Laughing at something he said. Lying on cotton sheets beside him, eyes staring into his. The sheer flood of emotions overwhelmed, spilling over. It was too much.
Too much.
Clawing the halo contraption away, he lurched forward and fell from the chair as reality materialized drunkenly into view. Clenching his teeth, he staggered out the door and through the hallway, one arm against the wall for support.
The clerk looked up when he burst into the lobby. "Done already, brosferatu? Don't tell me you got brain-sick from the—"
Face burning, Jett reached over, seized the man by the shirt, and brutally snatched him over the counter. "Where do you get the memories?"
The clerk winced in pain, trying to break Jett's grip. "The memories? I don't got nothing to do with those. I just work here, bropocalypse."
Jett shook the man until his teeth rattled. "You know something. They don't have the right. You understand? You're violating people's minds!"
A voice spoke from the doorway. "We got prob here, boss?"
Two men in purple and black streetwear entered casually, hands in pockets. Krazy Eights. Jett knew they probably had their hands on firearms, ready to pull if things got out of hand. Despite their bulky size, he knew he could disarm and take both of them down without breaking a sweat, but realized the stupidity of his actions. Bringing attention to himself was the last thing he wanted to do. He released the clerk and slowly raised his hands.
"No problem. I was just leaving."
"Better step, then. See your face again, have to rearrange it."